Most Boys
by swishandflick7
Summary: Arthur Pendragon is not like most boys, and neither is his manservant Merlin. - Arthur faces the eve of his first battle with Merlin. Oneshot series, canon!AU, young!Arthur and young!Merlin, slash
1. Chapter 1

Most boys Arthur's age would be out romping with girls, having a tumble or two, and getting lost in the headiness of the tavern mead.

But then again, most boy's Arthur's age weren't preparing to lead their first battle.

Most boys hadn't had a personal manservant since the age of five.

And no one else Arthur's age was the crown prince of Camelot.

The villagers and townspeople of Camelot were still out in the streets, despite the rapidly sinking sun. The annual troupe of acrobats and performers had just left town, leaving a wake of drunken excitement in their trail. This August had been exceptionally warm, but now they revealed in the comforting warmth, the buzz of amiable chatter enveloping the Citadel like a shroud.

But Arthur? Arthur did not partake in the festivities or share in the relaxed lull. Arthur had to worry about the barbarian invaders from Umbria that even now were making their passage towards the lower villages. Arthur was facing the eve of his maiden battle as Prince of Camelot. He would have his own men, his own strategies, his own victories, and failures. And all he had now was 15 years of royal training and a manservant named Merlin.

"Merlin!" Arthur bellowed, as much as a 15 year old could bellow, for the other boy, who was nowhere to be found.

At that moment, Merlin burst into Arthur's chambers with yet another steaming bucket of water.

"Just fetching the final pail for your bath, _sire._" Merlin's voice held the same ridiculous insolence as always, and Arthur watched as he clumsily went about his duties.

Of all the manservants he'd had, Merlin was by far the worst, but he didn't treat Arthur like a child or a god, but as an equal.

"One day you'll pay for that cheek, Merlin." Arthur's voice, on the other hand, was flat and somber, a mere imitation of the usually good-natured prince.

"I'd like to see that, _sire,_" Merlin replied, his voice softer, but no less Merlin than ever.

Merlin helped Arthur bathe, using an old cloth to wipe away the stains of the day's work. As he picked up the cloth out of the cooling broth, water dripped in rivulets down Arthur's back, unusually defined for a young boy. Yet even as the suds were washed away and Arthur was stepping out of the bath, Merlin could still read the tension in every line of muscle.

"Sire." Merlin's voice was bereft of all cajoling.

"That'll be all, Merlin."

And Merlin left, retiring to the small personal spaces he occupied that adjoined Arthur's much larger chambers.

Arthur dressed himself with some difficulty, but did not immediately go to his bed. Instead, he watched from his elevated window the antics of the people, _his_ people, in the streets below.

A young girl, awake long past when she should have gone to sleep, twirled in the middle of the courtyard, the exuberantly colored skirts flaring about her in a bell shape. Men of various ages, shapes, and sizes passed in and out of the tavern doors. Older boys and girls snuck off in twos to various dark corners and alleys.

_The things they don't know. _

Growing weary of carrying the weight of their lives in comparison to his own, Arthur padded over to his bed, extinguishing a sole flickering candle on his way.

As the room was plunged into darkness, Arthur pulled the covers tight around him, shivering despite the moist warmth that permeated the castle walls.

His racing mind was alive in the silence, yelling, whispering, speaking his every thought to him. The images of Camelot flashed by as they were replaced with the gruesome tales of war that the knights were all too happy to share with Arthur. No one had told them the dangers of molding such an impressionable young mind.

Finally, exhaustion overpowered Arthur's brain and he floated in an out of consciousness as he slept. At some point during the night, he was aware that he had spoken a word aloud, and his mouth still tasted of Merlin's name. He was starting to doubt himself and drift off to sleep once more when he heard the timid footsteps.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered again, but it was enough. Merlin strode over to Arthur's side, hesitating only briefly at the bed post before seeing Arthur's disconcerted face and continuing on.

Wordlessly, Merlin pulled back the covers just enough to slide gently into the bed space beside Arthur. It had been so long since Arthur had received any caring attention, and he jerked at Merlin's touch.

A hand on Arthur's arm.

It stayed there, without pressure, until the flaring nerve endings calmed and Arthur melted before the affection.

Now confident in his actions, Merlin again became the manservant, manoeuvering Arthur until their bodies were flush. Merlin's arms wrapped around Arthur's body, warm and surprisingly solid given Merlin's slight frame. Arthur could feel as Merlin's hot breath wisped across the nape of his neck, bristling the hairs there and sending a shiver through Arthur's skin. He closed his eyes again as he concentrated on each point of contact, the fiery burn of skin on skin.

"Sleep, Arthur." Merlin's voice ghosted across his ear, the words so soft Arthur would have discounted them, were it not for the goose bumps that remained on his arms.

And with those words, Arthur did sleep, and he didn't wake until morning, where he found himself still in Merlin's arms.

They each went about their morning routines as usual, but there was no lively banter or insults, as Merlin and Arthur both contemplated the day's coming events.

Merlin was just fastening the last buckle of Arthur's breastplate, fashioned especially for his small size. His eyes were lowered and his long eyelashes drifted across the pale expanses of sculpted cheekbones.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was imploring.

"Arthur." Merlin responded, cautioning.

Arthur brought both of his gloved hands up to encapsulate Merlin's face, the leather rough against soft skin, and his thumb tracing wonderingly across the fine features.

Their world hovered on a precipice for one second, two. Then Arthur brought it crashing over as he drew Merlin's lips to his own. It was chaste and simple and they shared their morning breath and chapped lips and inexperience, but it told a story that neither one dared speak aloud, and it encompassed more declarations that could ever be expressed in mere words.

For Arthur was not most boys, and nor was Merlin.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin stood close to Arthur in the hastily made tent. His fingers moved deftly over the chainmail and armor as it slotted into place on Arthur's body, but he was slow and deliberate, lest his fingers betray him and start to shake. In contrast, Arthur's muscles were pulled tight, the sinewy tendons taught and prepared to snap into action at any moment. His jaw was set and Merlin could see the pulse beating an erratic rhythm underneath the smooth skin. Arthur glared at a spot of light that filtered through a hole in the tent, his eyes glazing over, only breaking focus when Merlin finished off the tie of his cape and stepped away to fasten his own armor.

It was then that Merlin let himself exhale and drop his defenses, but only minimally, as he was still aware of Arthur's eyes on him, in fact, Arthur was transfixed and tracking every move. Merlin's hands fumbled over the clasp of his gauntlet once, twice, three times before Arthur strode over wordlessly, replacing Merlin's fingers with his own.

A thank you formed on Merlin's lips, but the words fell away into the stale air.

"There," murmured Arthur, and he turned away to exit the tent.

Merlin scrambled for words and finally, "Arthur," he coughed, his voice thick from disuse. "Your sword."

Merlin held out the gleaming scabbard and Arthur took it, nodding firmly in acknowledgment.

Merlin followed Arthur out of the tent, his long legs soon bringing him alongside the other man, their strides falling in tandem as the approached the already gathered army of Camelot.

Arthur's personal fleet stood a bit aside from the larger group, patiently waiting for their prince. Uther had put together a group of men that would train alongside Arthur, but some veteran knights were included, their Camelot red capes only slightly faded in comparison.

The apparent leader of the group was a towering man named Leon. Leon had been Uther's most trusted knight and indeed right-hand man for as long as Arthur could recall, but now he stood by Arthur.

Having left the shaky uncertainty of a boy behind in the tent, Arthur now faced his men.

"Today, I am honored—" Arthur's voice cracked slightly and Merlin winced as small titters fluttered through the group before they were glared into silence.

"I am _honored_ to be fighting with such brave men. I do not fight as your prince or leader, but alongside with each of you, for the love of Camelot. Sir Owain, you will take half of the men around the right flank. The other half will follow Sir Tory into the forest to await my signal. Sir Leon will follow me up the center with ten men to rendez-vous with the other knights."

It was an unspoken agreement that Merlin would stay by Arthur's side during the battle.

The men remained quiet and still, expectant.

"For the love of Camelot!" shouted Arthur, and the cry was echoed joyously in a chorus of voices.

The knights mounted the few horses they were allowed and separated in their respective duties, silently preparing for the coming battle.

Arthur, Merlin, Leon and the ten men rode on for a half mile, and despite his normal chattiness, even Merlin was silent. Something had changed and this battle was different. It held more; it meant more.

Arthur didn't know whether to take it as a blessing or a warning.

When they caught up to the other Camelot troops, they were already engaged with the Umbrian barbarians. The clash of metal swords and maces was distinct and sharp, and there was already the tang in the air that followed bloodshed on the battlefield.

Merlin watched as in slow motion as Arthur charged confidently in to the melee. It may have been Arthur's job to protect Camelot, but it was Merlin's job to protect Arthur, and he would do that to the very best of his ability.

In the midst of a battle, it was easier for Merlin to use his magic without fear of being caught, but the flurry of action distracted him and it was almost impossible for him to ensure both his and Arthur's safety even without consideration of the other men.

Without being overt about his capabilities, there wasn't really a lot that Merlin could do. His eyes flicked frantically over the tangles of men, looking for a man in need of help. To his left he watched as Leon overtook a large, grizzled man who probably weighed more than three Merlins. Swiveling his head back around, Merlin watched as two more soldiers fell under the blade of a knight. Since the charge, Merlin had lost sight of Arthur and could not presently locate the smaller boy among the black and brown clad enemies. He pushed away the bubbles of fear that threatened to rise up and resumed his search with increased vigor.

_There_. Arthur was engaging three men. It was evident that he had the advantage, but the Umbrian army was seemingly limitless, and more fighters would fill the spots of the fallen until the crown prince himself fell.

A surge of magic rose up uncalled, the energy prickling all over Merlin's skin. A murmured word sent bolts of power rushing at Arthur's assailants, striking them squarely in the chest and leaving them incapacitated.

Just as Merlin was sighing out the breath he didn't know he had been holding, he saw Arthur's face go from one of astonished relief to confused anguish. The soft squelch alerted both of the boys to the cause as a barbarian pulled a dagger from Arthur's chainmail and collapsed, his last living act completed.

Merlin's fear was quickly replaced by something deeper, darker, and he felt he wanted to vomit, even as Arthur's name burst its way out of his lips, the syllables tearing the lining of his throat as the air was ripped from his mouth.

"No, no, no, no, no," came the steady babble as Merlin tripped and stumbled his way over to his prince. "Arthur," he cried as he reached the boy's side, fingers already probing for the wound.

"Merlin, good man, it's just a flesh wound. See—ahhh," Arthur's nonchalant tone was betrayed by the ashen pallor of his face and the sharp intake of breath as the pain moved through his body.

"You're injured, idiot," said Merlin, taking a cue from Arthur.

"And you're going to get us both killed," retorted Arthur haltingly

Merlin was sure that at any moment the enemy would descend upon them and it would be over. He closed his eyes and steeled his will for the inevitable.

And then something else was blocking the light from his eyes and hoisting them onto a horse.

_Sir Johan_, thought Merlin. _But he was supposed to be with Sir Owain_.

"Sir Owain," wondered Arthur, echoing Merlin's thoughts

"Doesn't follow orders," finished Johan. "But our priorities were you, sire, and the Umbrians are retreating as we speak."

"In that case…" Arthur trailed off, his head slumping as Johan spurred the horse forward to Camelot and away from the day's shaky victory.


End file.
